


The Hourglass

by cathcer1984



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Magic, Anal Sex, Bookstore Owner Stiles Stilinski, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Steter Week, Steter Week 2020, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:21:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25477609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathcer1984/pseuds/cathcer1984
Summary: There’s a family heirloom that’s been passed down the Stilinski family for generations. No one knows how old it is; only that as soon as the next Stilinski is born the hourglass goes to them.It’s filled with blue sand and magic.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 21
Kudos: 442
Collections: Steter Week 2020





	The Hourglass

**Author's Note:**

> For Steter week 2020, day 2:
> 
> A huge thank you to Sao for all her support, ideas and enthusiasm. I honestly don't think this fic would have been finished without her <3

There’s a family heirloom that’s been passed down the Stilinski family for generations. No one knows how old it is; only that as soon as the next Stilinski is born the hourglass goes to them.

It’s filled with blue sand and magic.

The sand only starts to drop when an individual extremely important to the current owner is going to come into their life. It can take anything from an hour to a day to almost a year, and rarely, even longer for the sand to fall through and the last grain falls the moment the meeting takes place.

For Noah, Stiles’ dad, the grains only dropped twice.

The first time was when he met Claudia.

The grains started to fall quickly, Noah had been settling into his new room in Beacon Hills. As a new Deputy from a couple of counties over Noah had been sent to fill a personnel shortage. Due to the quickness of it all he’d had no time to find himself a place, and no money to rent anything bigger than a room.

The local Sheriff, Mieczysław Gajos, had taken him in. Noah had unpacked his bag of clothes, unwrapped the hourglass from his grandmother’s babunia. The grains were falling, Noah had set it down and watched as the bottom flooded with blue sand. He didn’t see the last few specks land because the door had burst open and the Sheriff’s daughter had stumbled in.

She was beautiful and clumsy and introduced herself as Claudia and did he want to see the town because she’s an excellent host. Noah had been nodding before the question was even out of her pretty mouth. The hourglass told him she was important but his heart told him that she was going to be his wife.

The second time the hourglass worked for Noah was for his meeting with Stiles himself.

It started pouring slowly one day, a week later Clauda told him she was pregnant. The grains fell steadily over the next nine months. Noah never saw it but the last grain fell at 5.02 in the morning of the 8 of April, 1995.

That was the moment the hourglass stopped being Noah’s and began belonging to Stiles.

*

In Stiles’ twenty-three years of life the sand has dropped twice so far.

As a four year old Stiles had been fascinated by the hourglass. It had been in his room since his birth. As soon as he’d been old enough to climb from his bed onto his bookcase to grab it Stiles had done so. He’d dropped it so many times yet it never broke, the grains always staying in the same place. Never shifting, never moving until two days before Stiles was due to start kindergarten.

“Mama! Mama!” Stiles had run into the kitchen where his mother was making lunch. “It’s moving, Mama. The sand is moving. Come and see, come on Mama.” He’d pulled and pushed until she’d relented with a light laugh to follow him into his room.

“We’ll have to let Daddy know as soon as he comes home, Mischief. He’ll be so pleased for you.” Mama had stroked a hand over his head and pressed a kiss to the top of it.

“Can I bring it to lunch?”

“Of course you can, Mischief.”

He’d carried it carefully and set it on the table to watch them fall. Stiles had carried that hourglass around the house with him wherever he’d gone over that weekend. He’d also cried when he was told he couldn’t bring it to kindergarten with him.

It hadn’t mattered though because as soon as he’d gone in the gate Stiles had run off to the sand pit leaving his parents watching him proudly. He loved sandpits, there he’d met a quiet boy with a heaving chest, crooked jaw and a bright smile. “Hi, I’m Mischief-swarf. You can call me Stiles.”

“I’m Scott.”

“Want to dig with me?”

Scott had nodded. “What are we digging?”

“A hole to China.”

“Cool.”

And ever since they’ve been inseparable.

*

The hourglass has followed Stiles around, to college and his various homes and finally to his bookstore back in Beacon Hills. It sits on a shelf and never gathers dust.

Stiles doesn’t even really look at it now, not often anyway and sometime in the last few days it’s started dripping grains. Stiles freaks out. He does the only thing he can think of, he rings his dad.

“Dad!”

“Hey kiddo.”

“It’s started.”

There’s a frustrated sigh followed by silence.

“Oh right. The hourglass, the sand has started to fall.” Stiles paused. “Again.” He adds.

“Congratulations.” Noah’s voice is soft.

“I wonder who it means.” Stiles muses out loud to himself, as he stares at the slow drip of blue grain.

“Only time will tell.” Noah’s voice comes down the phone, dry and deadpan.

Rolling his eyes Stiles asks “what do I do?”

“Nothing.” Noah rustles some papers in the background and Stiles almost feels bad for interrupting him at work. “Just go about your life. It will happen when it happens, son.”

“Yeah okay.” Stiles knows his dad is right, he’s heard the stories. Great-grandfather Stanisław changed his whole routine and the grains reset themselves so he never met the person he was supposed to. Stiles doesn’t want that. “We're still on for dinner, right?”

“Of course. I have to get back to work and so do you.”

“Yeah okay.” Stiles grins even though his dad can’t see him. “See you later.”

“Bye kiddo.”

He spares the hourglass another glance before forcing himself to go and do some stocktake. He’s not four anymore, he can’t be spending the next, however long, staring at blue sand grains settling at the bottom.

*

As the day blends into the next Stiles takes the hourglass to and from his bookstore. He shouldn’t keep it at home because he lies awake watching the grains slowly tumble down. At work he has the time to glance, but not stare, at it in between serving customers and doing his stocktake and accounts.

It’s hard running a bookstore but Stiles loves it. He’s a small independent that sells anything. And he means anything, if you want it he can find it. He specialises in selling tomes and grimoires to magic users. He has a bestiary from every major Hunting family in the States and sells them sections at a time to people who need it for non-nefarious purposes.

There’s magic in the Stilinski bloodline. For Noah that means he instinctively knows when someone is lying to him, for Stiles he can sense someone’s true purpose. People can lie to him successfully but they can’t hide their true intent. He’s had people tell him they’re just researching when they want the information to hunt and Stiles refused to give them what they wanted.

The need for books on magic, creatures, the supernatural, actual proper tomes, and not fictional crap, is what got Stiles started. He’d wanted to understand the hourglass, the magic behind it. He’s learned about witches and warlocks, vampires and werewolves, sirens and selkies. He’s become informed about Hunters. Stiles knows all the myths and legends, the ones that are based in fact (Dedi- the Ancient Egyptian magician) and the ones that are completely made up (Merlin- the Welsh one everyone knows).

Stiles created his bookshop to sell books to the supernatural as a cover he sells ordinary books to the average public. Surprisingly Stiles is the only bookstore in the small town but he draws in a large array of customers from all over the Americas, and occasionally Europe.

It’s a Sunday, two days after the sand started to fall when he hears the bell tinkle above the door. Stiles shelves the copy of Harry Potter he’d been re-reading when he catches sight of the hourglass. The top is mostly empty, the last grains of blue trickling onto the pile at the bottom. A throat clears behind him and Stiles spins around to see two men just in the doorway.

 _Fuck_ Stiles thinks harshly. The hourglass is only ever for one person and Stiles has two in front of him.

They’re both gorgeous.

One is older, light hair, piercing blue eyes and a well trimmed goatee and thin beard along his jaw up to meet his hair. He’s got broad shoulders and a thick neck. The younger one is bigger, taller, full black beard and light eyes.

They’re both staring at Stiles, heads tilted slightly. The younger one has a look of concern under his thunder-brows, the older one looks unimpressed.

“Hey.” Stiles says awkwardly. “Welcome to Claudia’s. How can I help?”

The younger one steps forward and smiles, teeth white in his beard. “Hi, I’m Derek and this is my Uncle Peter. We want to speak to Claudia.”

“Uh what?”

Stiles’ eyes fly between the two of them. This is the first time this has happened.

“Claudia, it’s her shop right?” Derek’s smiling kindly and he leans on the counter, bringing his impossibly perfect face closer to Stiles. It’s an act, Stiles can tell. He doesn’t want Stiles, he wants _Claudia_ and is trying to distract Stiles with his pretty face. “No offense to you, but we kind of need her experience.”

“Oh. _Oh_.” That means it’s a supernatural thing. “Gotcha.” Stiles stupidly does a finger gun at Derek. He looks away from Derek’s face and sees over his shoulder that the uncle hasn’t moved.

“Derek,” Peter’s voice is hard. “Wait outside.”

“Uncle Peter-” Derek starts to protest and he turns but whatever else he was going to say dies on his tongue when he sees the stony expression on Peter’s face. It’s an expression that makes Stiles uncomfortable, and slightly terrified because the only read he can get on Peter is an unsettling one. There’s an honesty about him that suggests he’s there for the reasons he says he is but he also has a dishonest edge. It’s disorientating.

Stiles tenses as he looks between the two, Derek gives him a sympathetic look. “I hope to see you around, we’ll be in town for a while.” Another flash of white teeth and he’s gone, the bell tinkers twice more as the door opens and closes on Derek’s exit.

“Is there somewhere we can talk privately?” Peter asks. Stiles can’t place his tone, he can’t place anything about this man.

“I thought you wanted to speak to Claudia.”

An eyebrow raises, and Peter responds smoothly, “you are Claudia.”

Stiles splutters.

Peter stalks forward until he's leaning against the counter, unlike Derek it’s not a flirtatious move. There's a power about him and he's intimidating as he looms. The smirk on his face only exaggerates his dominance.

“I am not an idiot.”

Affronted, Stiles squawks and indignant “are you implying that I am?”

Rolling his eyes Peter replies, “I’m implying that my nephew is. I did my research. Claudia Stilinski is dead. This shop is owned by one M. Stilinski but you prefer to be called Stiles, don’t you darling?”

“Congratulations you’ve proved you can read.” Stiles folds his arms over his chest. Who does this guy think he is, calling Stiles darling? He’s not Freddie Mercury for god's sake.

“I’d prefer to have this conversation in private.”

“I’d prefer to have this conversation with CCTV.” Stiles smirks at Peter, “only one of us is getting his way, and it’s not you.”

Peter is quiet while he obviously assesses his options. “Fine.” It rolls easily from his tongue but there’s no defeat or submission in his body language. “I want the Southeil Treatise.” He’s being truthful, that is what he wants and yet Stiles is picking up on an ulterior motive, one that is unsettling. A moment passes and Stiles doesn’t move, he doesn’t even breathe. Peter’s bright blue eyes bore into Stiles’ and he finds himself unable to look away. He’s entranced by this man who has come to his shop for Stiles himself. That’s unnerving and kind of exhilarating.

Then, Peter blinks.

Stiles takes a step back. “You win,” he says hoarsely. “Come on through,” Stiles takes a step towards the backroom and Peter is around the desk in an instant.

“Can I bring Derek in?” Peter asks, voice low though his face holds the unimpressed expression. “He needs to hear this so he can report back.”

“To who?”

“Who do you think, darling?”

Stiles licks his lips. “His Alpha. _Your_ Alpha.”

Peter flares his eyes. They’re bright blue, not the beta gold he’d been expecting. “Very good,” he practically purrs. After a moment too long of standing in Stiles’ space, he shifts back half a step and raises his voice. “Derek, you can come back in now.”

The bell tinkles again as Derek enters. He pauses, eyebrows dipping into a frown when he sees how close Stiles and Peter are standing before he continues to stride around to meet them.

“After you,” Peter says smoothly as if he’s graciously letting Stiles lead the way and not interrupting the silent moment between Stiles and Derek.

Stiles leads them through the small back room with its kitchenette, and straight through the solid looking wall that disappears after he crosses the threshold. The magic veneer was something the local Druid, and vet, put in for Stiles to protect the sensitive and rare texts. Stiles is the only one who can pass over the barrier and the people he brings with him.

It opens on a small workshop filled with Stiles’ book binding equipment and bookcases line every wall.The sunlight streams through the high window and has caught on the crystal making small rainbow patterns across the dark wood floor and oak bookcases.

He hears Derek whisper to Peter “I thought we were here for Claudia.”

“He is Claudia, Derek, keep up.”

There’s a strange dynamic between the two that Stiles can’t quite understand. Why has the Alpha sent two ‘wolves to a job that only really requires one? Peter is dangerous, Stiles has garnered that much. Maybe he’s reckless. But then, why couldn’t the Alpha send Derek on his own. He’s young, probably too inexperienced to be able to know what he’s after and why. Maybe that’s why Derek has to be there as well as Peter. Because Peter has the knowledge their Alpha needs but not the trust.

The wall seals itself behind them. Peter doesn’t even glance back, his hungry gaze focussed solely, intensely, on Stiles. But Derek presses his palm to it trying to push through, even with his werewolf strength he doesn’t make a dent.

“Do you mind, nephew?” Peter snaps. “We’re here for a reason and that isn’t it.”

“Sorry,” Derek’s reply is sheepish and his cheeks get pink.

Peter crosses his arms, it draws Stiles attention away from Derek’s pretty face to his uncle’s muscled body. With a smirk, now that he has Stiles’ attention again, Peter asks “the Southeil Treatise?”

“That’s a very dangerous document.”

“I didn’t ask that. Can you get it?”

“Hang on,” Derek interrupts. “I thought you told mom that you didn’t know what text we needed just that he was someone who could help.”

Peter shrugs carelessly. “Ah did I say that? I suppose I did. I lied. I know the text and I know who to get it from.”

It’s shocking to Stiles that Peter so blatantly admits to lying to not only his Pack but his Alpha as well.

“And that’s him?” Derek points at Stiles.

“Yep.” Stiles pops the ‘p’. “But you’re not going to get it.”

“Why not?” Derek demands. He doesn’t seem to know what to be feeling, anger at Peter for lying to him or annoyance with Stiles for not helping them.

“What do you know of the Southeil Treatise, Derek?” When he just shrugs helplessly, Stiles leans his shoulder against a bookcase, hands in his pockets and legs crossed at the ankle. Both ‘wolves eye him up and down, though Peter’s gaze lingers. “Ursula Southeil is better known as Mother Shipton. She lived in England, Yorkshire in the 1480 to 1560s -ish.”

“1488 to 1561, approximately.” Peter adds smugly and Stiles is grudgingly impressed. “Knaresborough, near the River Nidd and the petrifying cave nearby is called Mother Shipton’s Cave, her reported birthplace.” Now he’s just showing off, Stiles thinks, he’s also not sure what he’s needed for if Peter knows this already.

“That’s right, Mother Shipton was a soothsayer, a prophet. She’d made predictions for the Spanish Armada, the Great Plague of London, the Great Fire of London, the execution of Mary Queen of Scots and even the internet.”

“She was around at the same time as Nostradamus,” Peter continues. “Made predictions throughout her unnaturally long life.”

Derek frowns, “unnatural how?”

“She died peacefully when she was seventy-three. The average adult lifespan throughout the fifteen hundreds was thirty to forty. Mother Shipton pretty much doubled it.” Stiles explains gently.

“Mother Shipton was considered to be the child of Lucifer himself.” Peter says.

That makes Stiles pause. The word choice Peter has used is strange, who uses Lucifer instead of the Devil?

“And this treatise we’re after, where does that fit in?” Derek asks, eyes on his uncle.

“There was a book written about a hundred years after her death. Mother Shipton’s Prophecies, it’s easily accessed on the internet.” Stiles says.

Peter turns his attention to Stiles. “That’s not what we need.”

“No,” Stiles answers softly. “I know it’s not. The Southeil Treatise is Mother Shipton’s own personal record of her prophecies. Not diluted, not rewritten, hers and true. It has information in it that can change the world. Humanity could become extinct. Or it could expand beyond the galaxy. It’s a dangerous text and I will not let you have it.”

“But we need it.” Derek says imploringly.

Stiles shrugs, “you think you do. Tell me your problem and I can point you in the direction of other tomes, or people that can help.”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that, darling.” Peter doesn’t look surprised. “We’re done here.”

Derek looks between them frantically. “What.”

Standing, Stiles holds his left hand away from his body tugging up his sleeve. “There are a group of us, witches and warlocks around the world that are the protectors of such dangerous tomes.” Stiles pushes his sleeve up and shows them the protection rune on the inside of his wrist. “Even if I wished to give you the book, I am bound by the Oath of the Librarians to protect it.”

“Thank you for your time.” Peter says, utterly unphased. He murmurs to Derek as he turns away, “I told Talia this wouldn’t work. Now you can tell her and she’ll believe you.” The wall disappears as he steps up to it.

Derek follows him out looking confused, though he does glance at Stiles over his shoulder. Stiles watches them go, he knows he’ll see them again. At least he knows he’ll see Peter again, because despite his honesty of wanting the Southeil Treatise Peter’s hidden motive was clear to Stiles. Peter’s end game is _him_.

With a tap to one of the books on his shelf Stiles leaves the small room, and for a long time he stands at the counter staring at the grains of sand that have moved back to the top sitting peacefully waiting to fall.

*

It's been a late night for Stiles as Sundays often are. He has to restock the shelves and balance the account. Ever since he opened Stiles has had a weekly recommendation bookcase display. It’s small, just a mini bookcase that sits on a small table next to the counter. Sometimes it's themed, usually around the holidays. He's done blind dates with a book over Valentine's Day, scary books over Halloween, Christmas books over Christmas. Some weeks he does 'its blue' and uses books that have the dominant colour of blue on the cover.

This coming week it's magical week. Every book has magic in it, of course Harry Potter is up there but so is The Magicians and even Macbeth.

Just as Stiles places the last book on the case, the bell above the door tinkles. He whirls around as Peter closes the door quietly behind him.

"That was locked."

Peter smirks and turns the key that Stiles has left in the lock. "So it is." He comes closer and lets out a dark chuckle when he sees what Stiles is working on. "Cute."

“You’re trespassing.”

“Yes I am, darling.” Peter saunters up to stand behind Stiles, close enough that his chest brushes Stiles’ back as he looks at the display. “What are you planning on doing about it?” His warm breath wafts against the back of Stiles’ neck making him shiver.

Stiles turns around with a glare.

“I intend you no harm.”

It’s probably the truth, however; Peter still has an ulterior motive fueling him.

With a sigh, Stiles folds his arms. “Why are you here?”

“I wanted to ask you for a drink.”

“Really?” Stiles asks flatly, eyebrow rising in disbelief.

Peter holds up his middle three fingers, “scout’s honour. If that drink happens to end up with us trading orgasms, I’m certainly not going to complain.”

Rolling his eyes, Stiles replies “I highly doubt you were a scout.”

It makes Peter laugh, his eyes crinkle and they seem impossibly blue. “You’re right, I wasn’t. You haven’t said no to the drink. Or to the orgasms.”

“You haven’t told me why you’re really here.”

There’s a look of thinly veiled surprise on Peter’s face. “Oath of the Librarians.” He tuts in disappointment. “I told you I am not an idiot. I know there’s no such thing. I also know the rune on your wrist is for protection, not marking you as a protector.” Peter reaches out and his fingers clasp warmly around Stiles’ wrist. He brings it upwards near to his mouth and brushes the tip of his nose against the ink on Stiles’ skin. “And you are not a magic user, darling. Now, how about you tell me the truth, sweetheart.”

Yanking his arm away Stiles’ heart is beating fast, pounding a staccato in his chest and head. He doesn’t understand why he feels so … unsettled, jittery even. Peter is dangerous, his bright blue wolf eyes show that he’s killed an innocent and he’s riddled with hidden motives. Peter is a predator and Stiles feels very much like his prey right now. The way Peter is smirking suggests he knows exactly what Stiles is feeling.

“I won’t give you access to the Southeil Treatise because I don’t trust you.”

“That’s implying that _you_ have access to it, darling. I’ll have to say I’m impressed with your honesty. It’s actually quite refreshing, usually people are a little bit more subtle with their distrust of me. I find it to be outrageously attractive.”

Stiles swallows thickly.

Peter is reaching out with his now-empty hand towards Stiles’ face. He halts and his hand drops when there’s a sharp rap against the glass window. “It looks like my keeper is here.” Peter murmurs as he rolls his eyes.

Glancing sideways Stiles sees Derek at the window. He’s frowning and glaring at Peter. Derek’s mouth moves as he speaks but it’s too quiet for Stiles to hear. Whatever he says has Peter shooting a little smug grin smile in Stiles’ direction before he saunters over to the door.

Peter twists the key and calls over his shoulder as he leaves "best to keep this locked, darling. Who knows what will visit you in the dark of the night."

If Stiles hadn't have been moving closer to lock the door he wouldn't have seen the way Derek's hand reached out and touched Peter on the shoulder.

He still would have seen the visceral reaction. As soon as Derek's fingertips made contact, possibly even before, Peter was lashing out. He violently knocked Derek's hand away at the wrist then Peter pushed his nephew away with a hand to the chest. It was such a strong push that Derek stumbled back.

He didn't look surprised.

Stiles is holding his breath. Peter walks away without a care, he doesn't turn around he just leaves. Derek gives Stiles a reassuring smile through the window before following his uncle at a safe distance.

Stiles doesn't have the time or the inclination to dwell on it now, not when it's been such a long day and when tomorrow is suddenly so much closer than Stiles is prepared for.

Then again September 7th feels that way every year.

*

As it has done since Stiles was sixteen September 7th dawns too soon. He wants to hide in his bed under the covers and never get out until the day is over.

Stiles learned the hard way that it's not a good idea for him to wallow. He needs to keep busy so he gets ready for work and opens the shop as usual.

There's a tradition of sorts around this day that's been set up since his shop opened four years ago. It's his busiest day, not in terms of sales but in people.

Mrs Evans is always first through the door with a freshly baked loaf of bread. Mr Cole follows soon after with a casserole.

Beacon Hills is a small town and news travels fast. Being the son of the local Sheriff means Stiles is more likely to be talked about than not. He's aware of his place in the gossip, Stiles owns the only bookstore, he was constantly in trouble as a kid, went away to college and came back tattooed and openly bisexual.

There's always a lull around lunch time because everyone knows that Stiles shuts the shop after Mr and Mrs Higgins visit with their homemade hot chocolate. He’s always closed for the afternoon.

It's a warm day with a brisk wind. He walks from his store waving but not talking to the people he passes. Stiles has somewhere to be, the town's people know that and they let him go without interruption. It’s a short walk to where he parks his car, and then it’s a bit of a drive across town.

The cemetery is empty and quiet. Stiles reaches out to lay his hand flat against a headstone, "hey mom," he whispers before walking on. Today is not the day to mourn Claudia Stilinski.

There's a bouquet of meadowsweet and vervain, the Druid's offering. The calla lilies are Noah's contribution but Stiles never brings flowers. He looks at the name and feels the same pang of guilt that he feels every year.

Before he can speak a shadow looms over him. Surprised Stiles looks up and sees Peter watching him closely. He steps around the headstone, utterly disrespecting Stiles' privacy and ignoring the growing annoyance Stiles is feeling. Peter glances at the dates 1995-2011, "Scott McCall. Who was he?"

"My friend."

Peter sits down next to Stiles with a hum. "What happened?"

"Why the fuck would I tell you? And why are you here?"

Holding up his hands Peter says "I mean you know harm, darling. I was coming to see you because I do so enjoy your company."

"Are you seriously flirting with me at my dead best friend's grave?" Stiles narrows his eyes. Is this guy for real? Stiles is angry with Peter, angier today because this stranger has barged into his life and is steadily tipping Stiles’ world upside down. His spidey-sense is tingling with Peter’s hidden desires.

"I'd flirt with you anywhere, darling. The dead best friend bit is a downer for sure how-"

Stiles slaps him. He can't stop himself. The loud sound seems to echo across the cemetery and the pinkness on Peter’s cheek doesn't last long. Peter grins, it's bloodthirsty and vicious, the tip of his tongue curls over the bottom of his upper teeth. His eyes flash supernatural blue for a second, Peter looks smug.

"I won't apologise for that."

"You shouldn't, darling."

Turning back to the grave Stiles plucks from under his fingers some blades of grass. He doesn’t know why but he starts talking. "It was a werewolf attack. A feral Alpha attacked us. Scott died because he couldn't run away, he was an asthmatic."

"You weren't attacked?" Peter sounds surprised. And when Stiles glances at him, there's a sincerity to his expression that has been absent from their previous encounters. His spidey sense is telling him that Peter’s motive is genuine.

With a bitter laugh Stiles rucks up his shirt. He shows the scars from the claws that crisscross his side. Peter reaches out and touches him gently, when Stiles sucks in a breath, Peter pushes and pushes until it hurts too much and Stiles pulls away dropping his shirt back down. "I almost died."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because my dad's a crack shot in the dark."

There's silence from Peter. Stiles glances at him and his eyes are narrowed slightly and Stiles feels reckless, he’s emotional full of anger and guilt. He usually drowns it in alcohol but this year he might have a better option. “Yes.”

Peter raises an eyebrow, “yes, to what, darling?”

“Yes to the drink and the orgasms.” Stiles just his chin out defiantly. “Or we can forget the drink.”

He doesn’t expect Peter to laugh delightedly, “done. Did you drive here?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. I walked, you can drive us to your place, darling.” Peter stands and Stiles scrambles up to match him step for step as he strides to the car park. Stiles’ blue jeep isn’t the only car there and someone is bound to see them as Peter presses Stiles against the car with his whole body. “I’m going to kiss you.” There’s about two seconds between the end of his sentence and the beginning of his mouth devouring Stiles’. Peter kisses fiercely, he dominates the movements and his hands hold Stiles’ hips still.

Stiles wraps his arms around Peter’s shoulders and kisses him back just as desperately.

He has no idea how long they’re standing there for, Stiles gets lost in the feel of Peter beneath his hands, the taste of him, the smell of him. Peter pulls back and looks at Stiles deeply. “Get in your car, darling.”

“Yeah, okay.” Stiles answers breathlessly. Peter steps away and Stiles searches his pockets for his keys as Peter rounds the jeep. After a little fumbling he gets the jeep unlocked and Peter is seated quickly in the passenger seat, Stiles gets distracted as he goes to get in by Melissa McCall. She’s standing at the cemetery gate watching him.

Stiles slams the car door shut.

“Alright, darling?” Peter asks.

“Shut up,” Stiles growls and he leans over the console to grab Peter’s hair pulling him in for a vicious kind of kiss. Peter moans under the onslaught of Stiles’ tongue, tilting his head and letting Stiles take control of the kiss but not being passive about it. Peter’s hands roam Stiles’ torso, he meets Stiles’ tongue with his own and bites at Stiles’ lips.

When they break the kiss Melissa is no longer at the gates and Stiles tamps down on the guilt that is flaring in his mind as he puts the jeep into drive and hurtles down the street to his apartment over the bookshop.

*

Peter keeps close as Stiles leads him up the external stairs to his front door. Though as soon as the door is shut behind them, Peter gets his hands on Stiles and lifts him.

"Fuck that's hot." Stiles wraps his legs around Peter's waist and starts mouthing at his neck while Peter walks through the apartment as if he's as intimately acquainted with it as Stiles is. Carrying Stiles is effortless for him and Stiles is so turned on by Peter's strength.

"You like that, darling? You like the wolf?"

In response Stiles bites Peter's earlobe and let's a breathy moan float across his skin. It makes Peter growl and he throws Stiles down onto his bed.

Peter is standing over Stiles, between Stiles' thighs and he lifts a hand spreading his fingers before the claws come out. Using one claw Peter draws a line down Stiles' chest, the fabric of his shirt ripping is loud in the room.

"Fuck." Stiles gasps as the tip of the claw raises a thin red line on his skin. "Come here," Stiles sits up on his elbows and Peter meets him part way. They crash together with lips, teeth and tongues.

Shrugging out of his ruined shirt Stiles gets his hand on Peters belt. "Off, off, off. Come on, get naked."

Peter bites Stiles' lip and pulls back to stand between his legs while he quickly shucks his clothes. Stiles watches him for a moment then scrambles to get just as naked. When Peter lies back down on top of him Stiles moans at the heat and weight of him.

"You're so beautiful," Peter whispers, pressing his lips against the moles on Stiles' neck, he sucks a bruise in the hollow of Stiles' throat. Peter continues to kiss his way down Stiles' body, paying attention to the areas that makes Stiles squirm.

Peter pays attention to the geometric compass-clock tattooed on Stiles’ upper arm. He focuses on running his tongue over the scars on Stiles’ side. Over the dark pine tree on the opposite side, it draws the eyes away from the scars.

When Peter reaches the crease of his thigh, Stiles' head rolls to the side and there on the nightstand is a picture of Stiles and Scott at sixteen. It's like a bucket of ice cold water. "Stop." Stiles whispers. "Stop."

Rolling off Stiles, Peter does stop. He sits next to Stiles on the bed, a strangely comforting warmth, Peter is quiet while Stiles gasps for air and tries to get himself under control. It's been so long since Scott died and not enough time all at once. It's so much harder to deal with it on this day, especially when he's sober.

Stiles counts his breaths and slowly calms down. He doesn't open his eyes, not entirely sure when he even shut them. "I'm sorry," it's spoken so quietly Stiles isn't sure if he's actually said it.

A warm hand cups his cheek and Stiles squints to see Peter's blue eyes watching him with concern. "You have nothing to be sorry for, darling." Peter leans in giving Stiles enough time to pull away, he doesn't and their lips meet in a brief, chaste and heartbreakingly tender kiss.

Peter gets off the bed and pulls his clothes on, Stiles stops watching and stares at the ceiling trying to crawl inside himself to hide in his shame and misery. The bed dips but all Peter does is drop a soft kiss to Stiles' cheek. He doesn't say anything, runs his nose gently back and forth over Stiles' cheekbone and then Peter is gone quietly letting himself out of Stiles' apartment.

Stiles stays where he is, naked on the bed staring at that stupid picture of himself and Scott. In this moment he hates himself for what he's become without his best friend by his side.

The ringing of his phone pulls Stiles from his thoughts. "Yeah?" Stiles greets dully.

"You doing okay, kiddo?" Noah asks, he always rings Stiles in the afternoon to check in, knowing that Stiles goes to the cemetery at lunchtime. Sometimes Stiles has been blind drunk and slurring his words, others he's just borderline drunk, but it's a guarantee that Stiles doesn't see the day out sober. In fact this is the first anniversary of Scott's death that he hasn't touched a drop.

"Yeah. I'm... Yeah."

"You sound..." Noah trails off.

Letting out a bitter laugh, Stiles suggests "sober?"

"Yes. Sober."

"That's because I am." Stiles' eyes start to sting and the photo blurs.

"I'm proud of you, son. The reason I'm.calling is-"

"The same as every year."

Noah lets out a little puff of laughter. "Exactly. And as always Melissa told me to ask you, so this is me asking you to dinner with Mel and I."

Stiles doesn't answer.

A sigh comes through. "Well, I can honestly tell her I asked. I love you, Stiles."

"Love you too dad."

Noah hangs up and Stiles wipes his eyes on his arm. He has a decision to make. Stiles doesn't keep alcohol in the house because he doesn't think he'd stop at just one day if he has temptation nearby. So if he wants to get drunk he needs to go out and buy whiskey.

Ten minutes later Stiles is dressed and in his jeep. Instead of going left to the liquor store Stiles finds himself turning right. It's almost muscle memory that gets him to his destination. He hasn't been here in a long time.

Staring up at the house Stiles takes a deep breath. He gets out the Jeep and each step toward the front door feels like stepping through molasses. The door opens and Melissa McCall smiles widely at him, she rushes down the steps and pulls Stiles into a tight, motherly hug.

"Oh my boy. I'm so glad you've come."

"I'm sorry, Mel. I'm so-"

"Hush now," Melissa whispers into his ear. "You're fine, honey. Let's get you inside before your dad ruins the tamales."

If Stiles' laugh sounds more like a sob Melissa doesn't call him on it, she just uses her arm around his shoulders to steer him inside.

*

It's an early start for Stiles, as usual, but it feels worse after the late night he'd had with his dad and Melissa. It's also the first time Stiles has opened on the eighth of September sober. It feels harder to do than when he opens still drunk from the night before, probably because he can remember every gut clenching detail.

Unsurprisingly he has a customer come through the door almost as soon as Stiles has flipped the sign from 'sorry we're closed' to 'yes we're open'. What is surprising though, is who the customer is.

"Hey." Derek gives Stiles a small smile. "Can we talk?"

"Uh," Stiles flicks his gaze around his empty shop. "Sure."

"Somewhere private?" Derek taps his ears. Stiles gets the message, away from werewolf ears.

"Come on through," Stiles leads the way to his book cave. Derek at his heels. He gives the wall a push after it closes again. It still makes no difference.

"How do you know if someone comes into the shop?"

Raising an eyebrow Stiles replies with gusto, "magic."

Derek's cheeks pinken. "Sorry, I just wanted to talk to you without Uncle Peter hearing."

"Why?" Stiles crosses his arms.

"Uncle Peter is dangerous." Derek licks his lips, he shifts from foot to foot. "I could smell you on him yesterday. Your arousal and his. I think you should be aware of-"

"Hang on a hot minute." Stiles demands. "Are you seriously trying to protect me right now?"

"Well-"

"You don't know me." Stiles' voice is hard.

Derek glares at him. "I know Peter."

They stare at each other, Stiles is a little furious but he inclines his head. He _knows_ Peter is dangerous, he’s aware that Peter wants him maybe this will give Stiles an insight into why. "Fine. Say your piece."

"We never told you what Pack we’re from."

"No." Stiles answers even though it wasn't actually a question.

"I'm Derek Hale, my mother is Talia Hale the Alpha of the Hale Pack. Peter is her brother, her left hand, the Pack Enforcer."

Stiles watches Derek closely. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because Peter likes to fuck and kill." Derek must sense the dread causing Stiles' stomach to drop and his blood to turn cold. Derek hurries to add, "not at the same time. Fuck I'm making a mess of this. Peter fucks people and he murders others."

"That's the job of the Enforcer." Stiles flaps a hand, "the killing part not the fucking bit."

"Have you met other Left Hands?"

"Yes."

Derek's surprise is evident. "Okay, were they bloodthirsty? Because Peter gets his claws dirty and he relishes it."

"I still don't understand why you're telling me this. So the fuck what? We all have our coping mechanisms for the shit we have to deal with." Stiles relaxes his body and does his best to show Derek he's not a threat nor is he intimidated.

The shout of frustration Derek lets out causes Stiles to jump in shock. "You're not getting it!"

"Then it explain it to me, Derek Hale, because I’m not stupid."

Derek's cheek bulges where he presses his tongue against it inside his mouth. His eyes narrow as he looks Stiles over assessing whether it's even worth saying his piece. "I don't want to see you hurt, you're a nice a guy Stiles." Derek ignores Stiles' scoff. "You don't deserve to be hurt by Peter one way or another."

"Is that all of what you wanted to say?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Then get out," Stiles steps forward and the wall disappears. Derek is forced out the back room by Stiles advancing on him. "How dare you come into my shop and preach about someone else's wrongness. Who are you to judge him? Where do you get off protecting strangers? Go back to mommy, Derek."

Blood drips onto the floor under Derek's fists. He must have curled his claws into the palms and his eyes flash beta gold. "Peter slit the throat of his best friend. He-"

"Now, now, nephew, don't go spilling all my secrets." Peter appears in the doorway to the kitchenette.

Derek's eyes close in regret and he whispers "shit."

Stiles glances from Derek to find Peter looking straight at him. It sends a jolt of embarrassment through Stiles because of yesterday. But he can’t possibly make more of an ass of himself in front of Peter, so Stiles waves. "Hi." He cringes, apparently he can embarrass himself more.

"Hello, darling." Peter squeezes in, shoving his shoulder into Derek's jerking him out the way. "I came to see how you're feeling after yesterday."

Laying a hand on Peter's arm, Stiles registers the flash of quick movement from Derek but it doesn't matter because Peter presses his other hand over the top of Stiles’ holding him in place. "I'm better than I was yesterday." Stiles answers honestly, he might be feeling slightly humiliated and completely stupid but he doesn’t feel quite so brittle and fragile.

"Are you still interested in those orgasms?" Peter quirks an eyebrow and smirks.

Derek makes a gagging sound and still doesn't leave. Stiles is a little pissed off with him, he doesn't need Derek's protection. Stiles can take care of himself besides Peter is hot and interested, and Stiles is lonely and filled with enough self destructive tendencies to enjoy the thrill.

"Absolutely." Stiles smirks back. He’s even more interested now someone has told him not to. Stiles was always the kid that touched the toaster to see just how hot it was, not satisfied with being told by his mom “no Mischief, don’t touch, it’s hot”. He’d had to find out just how hot. It’s a behaviour he hasn’t grown out of.

Peter chuckled darkly. “I’ll come back for you later.” He steps close enough to press their chests together and he kisses Stiles on the lips. It’s strangely erotic and possessive for such a short kiss. The bell tinkles and for a brief moment when he’s lost in Peter’s mouth Stiles thinks a customer has walked in, only as Peter pulls away he sees that Derek has left. “I do believe we’ve offended my nephew’s delicate sensibilities.”

“Eh, who cares?” Stiles shrugs. He’s a little desperate to close the shop and take Peter upstairs right now. He doesn’t because he knows the anticipation will make the reward all the more sweeter when they finally give in.

“No one here, that’s for certain.” Peter winks. He takes a step away and then another and another until he’s at the door. “Until later, sweetheart.”

“I look forward to it.”

In the blink of an eye, Peter is out the door bell tinkling cheerfully as he leaves. Stiles feels something settle in him, the need to get out of his own skin, the itchiness he feels disappears as he thinks about the end of the day.

*

The day both drags on and goes by in a rush. Stiles gets more jittery with every passing hour, his customers pick up that something is going on with. Most put it down to yesterday’s anniversary and Stiles is happy to let them make that assumption. As soon as the clock hits five, Stiles is out the door and locking it, he barely remembers to switch off the lights and doesn’t even sort out the till. He can do it in the morning. There’s something more important waiting for him.

Stiles takes the stairs round the side of the shop up to his apartment two at a time. He’s too busy searching his key ring for his house key and trying not to fall down the steps that he startles so badly he drops the keys when Peter talks.

“Are you rushing for me?” He’s got an expression very close to the cat that has the cream. Extremely satisfied and borderline predatory.

“No, I’m rushing for the season finale of America’s Next Top Model.” Stiles picks up the keys and then he’s pushing at Peter’s shoulders to hold him against the door. “Of course I’m rushing for you,” he leans in and puts his lips on Peter’s skin where his jaw meets his neck and biting.

Peter makes a noise in his throat. It takes Stiles a second too long to realise it’s a growl. In a heartbeat, Peter has spinned them so Sitles is pressed up against the door face first, the heat of Peter’s body pushing against him Stiles is exhilarating. Stiles knows better than to put his mouth on the neck of a werewolf, he did it anyway just for this dominating reaction.

“Keys.” Peter demands.

Stiles hands them over with minimal fuss and Peter unlocks the door, Stiles trips forward as it opens and Peter’s weight doesn't stop pushing him forward. Peter keeps him from dropping though with his strong arms around Stiles’ waist.

Unfortunately Stiles’ stomach gurgles and Peter laughs against his neck. “Hungry, dear?”

“Sorry.” Stiles feels mortified. Peter’s arms leave his body and he steps away to close the door.

“Go on,” Peter nudges his shoulder. “We’ve got time, get something to eat. You humans are so delicate.”

As he moves to the kitchen Stiles rubs the back of his neck, “I may have forgotten to eat lunch today.”

“Why?” Peter purrs, “were you thinking of me?”

“I was thinking of riding you. Yes.” Stiles laughs delightedly at the shock on Peter’s face. “Tea or coffee?”

“Hmm?” Peter is a little distracted.

Stiles slides in front of him putting his arms around Peter’s shoulders. “Now you’re thinking of me riding you. Do you want tea or coffee?”

“What tea do you have?”

Warm hands land on Stiles’ hips and he leans in to kiss Peter. It’s comforting and not at all a precursor to hot sex with stranger that Stiles had been anticipating. He thinks briefly about the hourglass and how Peter is probably important to him, to his life, but Stiles dismisses that. It could easily have been Derek. Either way, he’s not going there again, he’s not losing someone like Scott again. They’ll fuck and have some fun and that’ll be it. Stiles is determined not to get invested in another person.

“Any kind you want.” Stiles quickly pulls out of Peter’s arms and avoids his knowing gaze by opening his cupboard. On the wooden shelves are jars and jars of dried herbs, spices, dried flowers, and dried fruit.

There’s a strange expression on Peter’s face as he eyes it all.

“Oh, I kind of collect them.”

“You collect herbs and spices?”

“I guess.” Stiles pulls down a jar of dried oranges, dried ginger pieces, pink peppercorns, black peppercorns, dried orange blossoms and dried red bush.

“They’re not labelled.” Peter points out needlessly.

Stiles shrugs. “I know what they are.” When he glances up at Peter from measuring out what he needs into the teapot Stiles falters at the hungry and intense gaze focussed solely on him.

“I’ll have what you’re having then.” Peter smirks, there’s a dangerous edge and Stiles shivers in anticipation.

He busies himself mixing up the tea ingredients and sets the kettle on the stove to boil. While that’s going, Stiles grabs some scones out of the cupboard and sets a few on a plate, with some homemade strawberry jam and butter in small dishes.

Peter has wandered over to where Stiles displays his books on a single shelf. It’s his own personal one, lined with old books he’s collected over the years. “ _Natural History, The Complete Herbalist_ , Tennyson, Keats, _Macbeth_.” Peter fixes Stiles with his knowing look again. Stiles gets the sense that Peter knows something he doesn’t. “An odd combination of works, darling.”

“Is there a question in there?”

“Not at all. Just a comment.” Peter trails his fingers over the other old books on the shelf. There aren’t that many of them but Stiles feels like they are important to Peter.

“I only got them because I … it felt right.” Stiles isn’t even sure what he’s saying. It’s too personal to talk about with Peter but something about the werewolf makes Stiles want to spill all his secrets. He wants to whisper them against Peter’s skin, Stiles wants to tell Peter his dreams and his fears, he wants to give Peter everything he is. He wants give Peter the parts of him that were lost and broken and have been locked away since Scott died.

And that terrifies him.

The kettle whistles and Stiles pours the water into the teapot watching the water darken as it gets infused. Peter doesn’t stop poking into Stiles’ things, he picks them up and sniffs at the candles. Stiles hides his laughter in his shoulder when the black ones make Peter sneeze. It doesn’t take him long to understand what Peter is doing. He’s leaving his scent on Stiles’ things, in Stiles’ space and soon enough, on Stiles himself.

“Tea’s ready.” Stiles calls as he puts the strainer over the cup and holds the teapot over it to pour out.

Peter’s back at the kitchen side sitting on one of the tall stools in a second. They don’t really talk as they eat the scones. The way Peter’s fingers brush Stiles’ as they reach for the jam spoon or butter knife, the way Peter freezes as Stiles licks jam off the side of his hand, it all feels like foreplay. Stiles’ arousal is building and he thinks Peter’s is too, based on the looks Stiles is getting and the way Peter is edging himself closer.

“Ah fuck it,” Stiles grins pushing his half-filled cup away. He gets both his hands in Peter’s hair and guides him closer until their lips meet. Peter tastes like the tea and jam as he licks his way into Stiles’ mouth.

“About time too,” Peter murmurs against Stiles’ lips. He drags one of Stiles’ hands from his hair to press against the front of his jeans. Stiles palms at the hardness there, Peter rumbles a growl in his chest, it’s both dangerous and pleased. “Come here,” Peter tugs Stiles so he’s off his stool and straddling Peter’s lap.

Stiles grinds his dicks against Peter’s, it makes Peter grip his ass firmly and stand. Stiles lets out a low moan into Peter's mouth. Stiles demands, "bed, now," as he throws his head back and immediately, as Stiles knew he would, Peter licks and bites up and down Stiles' throat.

Peter makes short work of the floor space as he strides to the bedroom. Stiles has a moment of deja vu as he's thrown on the end of the bed. "Strip." Peter growls at Stiles even as he's pulling his own clothes off.

"Fuck yes." Stiles gets caught in his clothes as he avidly watches Peter get out of his. Soon enough strong hands are tugging Stiles' limbs out of the fabric.

When they are both naked Peter steps out of reach of Stiles' hands as he settles against the headboard, legs spread in front of him, dick hard and thick curving a little to the left. Stiles licks his lips, crawls forward and the moment he gets a taste on the tip of his tongue Peter fists his hair and holds Stiles’ head away from his dick. Stiles whines.

Peter gives a disapproving tut. "As delightful as it would be to fuck your mouth, sweetheart. That's not what you promised me. Now, where's your lube?"

"As if you don't know already." Stiles snarls and Peter uses his grip on Stiles' hair to pull him up and forward until he's leaning against Peter's stupidly muscular and deliciously hairy chest. Peter bites Stiles' shoulder, teeth blunt but the pain is sharp.

"Behave. Or I won't give you what you want."

Leaning in Stiles kisses Peter deeply, wet and filthy. "Yes you will because you want this, you want me. I _know_ you do." Stiles has known since he met Peter that he was the werewolf's end game. He just hasn’t worked out why.

__Peter doesn't answer, he just licks his way into Stiles' mouth while leaning over to get the lube out the drawer of the bedside table. Stiles had moved the picture of him and Scott off it after yesterday._ _

__So lost in the kiss and then the way he's able to move his lips, teeth and tongue over Peter's jaw and throat Stiles barely registers the hand gone from his hair. He does notice the slick finger pressing inside and the firm grip on one assk cheek, holding him open a little._ _

__"Fuck, yes." Stiles pushes back. "More. I'm not gonna break Peter. Fuck me."_ _

__Peter pushes a second finger in and soon a third, he's quick and teasing as he stretches Stiles while thumbing at Stiles' rim around his own fingers and rubbing at Stiles' prostate until he's practically begging._ _

__Then Peter takes his fingers out and Stiles lets out a high pitched whine until he realises what Peter’s doing. He’s made short work of slicking his dick with more lube, then Peter holds Stiles' hips in his hands and let’s Stiles control the movement as he sits on Peter’s dick. "That's it, sweetheart, take me all in. You can do it."_ _

__"God, you're so fucking thick."_ _

__"It feels good though, doesn't it?" Peter's voice has dropped becoming deeper, and more gravelly. He leaves one hand on Stiles’ hip the other shifts to tug and thumb at Stiles' nipples._ _

__"So damned good." Stiles arches his back and bares his throat as he fucks himself on Peters dick. He sets a brutal pace, thighs burning and arousal building._ _

__Peter splays his hands around Stiles' ribs as he leans in to nip and lick at Stiles' collarbone, neck and shoulders. His hips thrust up in an equally punishing rhythm that matches Stiles' desperation._ _

__"Close." Stiles grits his teeth as he fights to get closer to his orgasm._ _

__"Yeah." Peter agrees breathlessly. A hand pumps Stiles' dick and after a few more furious thrusts and a squeeze of the head of his dick Stiles is coming all over Peter's hand and belly._ _

__Peter bites Stiles on the shoulder as he comes, hips moving continuously through his orgasm. The sharp points of pain bring Stiles back to reality a lot quicker than usual. The pain takes over his whole body, Stiles feels like he's heating up from the inside and ready to explode. It’s like his skin is too tight and he’s expanding inside ready to burst in a second._ _

__He's felt like this once before._ _

__It’s overwhelming and Stiles petrified. He’s shaking and can’t quite remember how to breathe then a warm mouth is at his ear, a soft, soothing voice whispering "shhh, darling. I've got you. I've got you."_ _

__The words, the voice, the person under his hands anchors Stiles to the moment. The feeling fades but it leaves behind an awareness in him that makes Stiles feel like he's been awakened after a long sleep._ _

__"What."_ _

__"Well?" Peter raises an eyebrow and Stiles finally notices the blood around his mouth, the fangs and his supernaturally blue eyes._ _

__"You bit me!"_ _

__"Yes."_ _

__Stiles tries to get off Peter’s lap but he can't. Peter won't let him, even though his dick is soft and come is leaking out of Stiles. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"_ _

__"A lot. But we're not talking about me right now." Peter levels him with a look. "How do you feel?"_ _

__"Fucked out and pissed off." Stiles glares at Peter._ _

__"How about you answer me honestly.” Peter says disapprovingly. After a pause he adds, “and then I'll tell you why I did it."_ _

__Stiles eyes Peter and he nods. He even slumps forward until his head is on Peter’s shoulder, face in his neck. A feeling of spite rises up in him and Stiles can be incredibly petty. Viciously, before he can even second guess himself, he bites on the thick muscle of Peter's neck and he doesn't stop until he tastes blood._ _

__Surprisingly, Peter laughs. His whole body shakes under Stiles. He’s delighted but there’s a darker, sinister edge to it._ _

__The world turns as Peter moves supernaturally fast to put Stiles on his back, his dick is hard again as he thrusts inside Stiles. His pace is just as brutal as the one Stiles set mere minutes ago. Peter’s eyes are gleaming, his fangs are clear for Stiles to see because his mouth is open as he pants. The blood on his lips and teeth shouldn’t be an erotic sight for Stiles but it is._ _

__It’s not the most comfortable thing for Stiles, he’s oversensitive and nowhere near ready for a second orgasm but he wraps his legs around Peter’s hips encouraging him. He wants to do this for Peter, Stiles wants to please him._ _

__Peter pins Stiles to the bed with his weight. He sticks his tongue out and laps at the blood around Stiles’ mouth, that stains his teeth and taints his tongue. Stiles moans and whines as Peter fucks into him faster and harder, short sharp thrusts that nudge his prostate bringing the movements on the right side of pleasurable._ _

__Stiles’ body tightens around Peter’s dick and his legs clench around Peter’s hips and he kisses Peter frantically, chasing his tongue. Accidentally Stiles catches his tongue on Peter’s fang, blood wells up and Peter’s sucking on his tongue then he comes with a shout._ _

__He slumps on top of Stiles while his breathing gets back to normal. It doesn’t take long and Peter has soon pulled out, rolled over and is lying on the mattress, next to Stiles but not touching. That’s not good enough for Stiles, he rolls over and sets his hand on Peter’s stomach, fingers stroking at the trail of hair. Peter tenses._ _

__Stiles remembers the way he’d seen Peter throw Derek off him for touching him so gently. He’s amazed he hasn’t been gutted. “What just happened?” Stiles demands even though he knows. He just wants Peter to say it._ _

__“You haven’t upheld your end of the bargain, sweetheart.” Peter stares at the ceiling. Stomach muscles tight under the gentle strokes of Stiles’ fingertips._ _

__“I feel awake.” Stiles whispers. He lifts his hand from Peter’s stomach, the muscles relax as he pulls away, and he stares at his fingers. “Aware and tingly. I- I don’t know why the fuck I’m telling you this.”_ _

__“Because you want to.” Peter rolls over onto his side and props his chin on his fist, elbow on the bed so he’s looking down at Stiles. “You want to tell this to someone who won’t dismiss it. Don’t you, Stiles?”_ _

__Nodding Stiles doesn’t look away from Peter’s eyes. He’s fully human, the wolf tucked away under the surface._ _

__“You’ve felt like that before, haven’t you? Hot, overwhelmed, like you’re going to explode.”_ _

__“How did you know?” Stiles whispers, he feels sick with guilt. A warm palm settles on the back of his hand where it’s lying on the bed._ _

__“Because you’re a Spark, darling.” Peter takes a deep inhale through his nose. “I can _smell_ it.” _ _

__Stiles stares up at the ceiling, swallowing heavily. “You never wanted the Southeil Treatise, did you?”_ _

__“You know I didn’t.”_ _

__“I’m what you came here for.” Stiles’ eyes burn. He feels humiliated again._ _

__A warm hand cups his cheek and Peter waits until their eyes meet before he leans in to kiss Stiles chastely. “You are.” Peter admits. “Sparks are rare and powerful, they need anchors. Like werewolves need to be tied to our humanity so do Sparks.”_ _

__“Scott.” Stiles murmurs._ _

__“That’s right.” Peter looks proud that Stiles has figured it out so quickly. “You were sixteen, less than a year before you reached the age where Sparks manifest. He was supposed to be your anchor, you’d created a bond that caused your Spark to explode when he died.”_ _

__“How do you know all of this?”_ _

__Peter thumbs at Stiles' eyebrow, “knowledge is power. I know more than most. I’ve made it my job to know about anything and everything that could harm or boost my Pack. As for how I know this about _you_ , I’ve pieced it together from what you’ve told me and what I already know.”_ _

__“Your Alpha doesn’t trust you.”_ _

__That makes Peter pause and he inclines his head in acknowledgement. “No, she doesn’t.”_ _

__Stiles reaches up and touches Peter’s mouth, it’s still a little bloody. His neck has healed but the blood is still there, a reminder that Stiles bit him too. “Tell more about Sparks.”_ _

__“They come from a long line of magic users, back when magic was more common. The supernatural has diluted through cross breeding and of course hunters killing us all mercilessly.” Peter tenses as Stiles’ hand falls to his neck. “Sparks are like grains of magic that collect through a family blood line and at a certain level, in a specific individual the magic has reached a level that can be used.”_ _

__“Huh?”_ _

__Peter chuckles, “that wasn’t clear enough?”_ _

__“I just have my brains fucked out, this is heavier afterglow conversation than I’m used to.”_ _

__“Count yourself lucky then, sweetheart because I don’t tend to stay for the afterglow.” Peter shifts onto his back, this time their shoulders touch. Stiles’ hand falls away and he curls it around Peter’s fingers. “Let me put it this way, think of magic as grains of sand in an hourglass. Each time a child is born, a grain of sand drops. So the firstborn child is twice as powerful as their parent however it’s not enough magic to be anything. The bloodline continues and the magic, each grain of sand, drops down until it’s reached its capacity. That’s the Spark.”_ _

__Stiles is a little unsettled by the hourglass analogy but it’s something he understands intimately._ _

__“Sparks manifest their power at seventeen. I don’t know why. Yet.” Peter continues, he’s tightened his grip around Stiles’ hand. “As you grew up you should have noticed some signs of magic.”_ _

__“I thought I was going crazy.” Stiles feels cold and he shivers, curling into Peter’s warmth. It’s a little bit ridiculous the two of them lying on top of the covers, sweat and come drying on them and in Stiles’ case, dripping out of him. The conversation is too important and Stiles is afraid if he stops it to clean up then he’s not going to get the information he needs. “Things would happen when I was angry or scared. I was scared a lot.”_ _

__“Objects would move, you’d find yourself writing, drawing runes or sigils you didn’t understand.”_ _

__“Yeah. I set something on fire once too.” Stiles admits, shifting to press his cheek against Peter’s chest._ _

__“Maternal or paternal?”_ _

__“What?”_ _

__Peter sighs, “the magic is it your maternal or paternal side?”_ _

__“I don’t know.” Stiles closes his eyes. “Mom died when I was nine but she was sick for a long time before that. Dad worked a lot and after she died he drank a lot too.”_ _

__“I’m sorry that happened to you,” for the first time Peter sounds sincere. It makes Stiles look up at him. “I think we need to talk to your dad.”_ _

__Stiles can’t read Peter’s expression very well but Stiles’ spidey sense is telling him Peter’s got no hidden motive. “No, absolutely not.” Stiles closes his eyes and pretends that Peter didn’t say anything. “I’m not introducing you to my dad.”_ _

__“Why not? Parents love me. I’m a fucking delight.”_ _

__“Peter, you’re like fifty years older than me, you bit me, we’ve obviously just had sex. I’m not taking you to my dad.”_ _

__Peter growls playfully. At least Stiles thinks it’s playful. “I’ll have you know I’m forty. Not seventy.”_ _

__With a groan Stiles rolls away from Peter’s warmth. “I’ve never introduced him to a … a fling before.”_ _

__“First time for everything, darling.”_ _

__Sitting up Stiles looks over his shoulder at Peter, “why are you pushing this?”_ _

__“We need to understand your Spark and where it’s come from. I promise it will all make sense in time.” Peter looks genuine and Stiles sighs._ _

__“Answer me this first, when you came to my shop on Sunday night, you told me I’d lied to you about the rune and told me I’m not a magic-user.” Stiles taps his fingers against the protection tattoo on his wrist._ _

__“And you weren’t.” Peter smirks, “at the time it wasn’t a lie. You couldn’t _use_ magic.” _ _

__Rolling his eyes, Stiles shoves gently at Peter’s shoulder. “Okay. Shower first. I’m not meeting my dad dripping with your come.”_ _

__“You smell so good though, sweetheart.” Peter buries his nose in Stiles’ neck, he presses a kiss to the aching bite mark._ _

__Eventually Peter has his fill of nuzzling Stiles and sniffing him. Stiles heads for the shower first and thoroughly washes himself, twice. Peter looks extremely put out when he emerges from the bathroom and Peter is going in for his own shower._ _

__Thirty minutes later Stiles is pulling up outside his dad’s house with Peter in the passenger seat. “Don’t freak out.”_ _

__Peter gives him a glare filled with disapproval. “I’m not.”_ _

__“I wasn’t-” Stiles breaks off and shakes his head. “Never mind. Come on. Dad’s curtain twitching.”_ _

__They get out of the car and Stiles feels a sense of dread, then Peter puts his hand on his lower back and a wave of calm washes over him. It’s ridiculous and Stiles doesn’t understand it, he doesn’t get why he’s reacting like this to Peter’s touch. It’s become soothing and it makes no sense except, a small part of his mind says, it _does_ and he knows why. Stiles just isn’t acknowledging it. _ _

__The front door opens and Noah stands there in full uniform glaring down at Stiles and Peter._ _

__“Get inside, both of you. Now.”_ _

__Stiles hurries up the path and shoots into the house, Peter saunters along without a care in the world until he reaches the doorway. Stiles watches from the couch as Peter’s nostrils flare and he tips his head, baring his throat. “Alpha Stilinski,” Peter murmurs. He glares at Stiles after sliding inside. Probably for not telling him Noah is not only a werewolf but an Alpha. “Why didn’t I smell him at your place?”_ _

__“I don’t go there much.” Noah answers as he shuts the door. He comes around to sit on the chair next to the couch. “All his herbs give me a headache, I find it to be claustrophobic as well. Didn’t you?”_ _

__Peter shrugs indifferently. “I found it comforting actually. It reminded me of my grandfather.”_ _

__“Was he..” Stiles can’t bring himself to say it._ _

__“A Spark. Yes, darling he was. It’s how I knew you were the first time I caught your scent on a book you’d sold my niece.”_ _

__Noah clears his throat. “I think you have some explaining to do.” He shifts his gaze to Stiles, “perhaps some introductions first, son.”_ _

__“Peter Hale. I’m the Left Hand in my sister’s Pack.” Peter holds out his hand for Noah to shake. Stiles sinks back into the couch cushions. He’s not sure if it’s from embarrassment or the need for home comforts. “My niece, Cora is a traveller. She goes all over the world, she’s a photographer. About seven months ago she came back from a trip around California, in her bag was a book on waterways in Europe. As soon as she’d unpacked it I could smell it, the Spark.” Peter turns his head and pins Stiles with his gaze. “You, Stiles.”_ _

__“I remember her.” Stiles snorts to himself. “She was terrifying. It was the only time I’d sold that book. She insisted on a plastic bag instead of a paper one.”_ _

__“That would hold the scent,” Noah adds._ _

__Peter nods. “It did. I did some research on the shop, on you and I may have over exaggerated a threat to our Pack so my sister would allow me to come here. She sent me with a keeper.”_ _

__Noah’s eyebrows rise._ _

__“His nephew, Derek.” Stiles answers the silent question. “They came into the shop together that first day.” He hopes his dad gets the silent message he’s sending about the hourglass._ _

__“And you’re sure it’s him?” Noah asks head dipping in Peter’s direction._ _

__“It is now.” Stiles tugs his collar aside and shows his dad the bite mark. Noah curses softly. “I chose him. Not fate, not magic, me.”_ _

__Peter flicks his gaze between them, his eyes narrowed like he’s trying to figure something out._ _

__“I think it’s time I told you about the night I was bitten.” Noah turns his attention to Peter. “I was out on patrol in the Preserve because someone reported a disturbance. Bodies of animals, howling. I went out there alone, utterly under prepared for the feral Alpha werewolf that attacked me.”_ _

__There’s a moment of silence. Stiles can almost see Peter figuring out why this information is important._ _

__“My son was sixteen and he’s always been an anxious and nosey kid. Stiles followed me and Scott followed Stiles.”_ _

__“We got separated.” Stiles adds in, voice hoarse. “I found Scott when he screamed.”_ _

__“As did I.” Noah presses a hand against his side. “I’d been bitten and left for dead but the Sheriff in me couldn’t leave someone else to get hurt. I got a shot off. Hit the Alpha in the neck.”_ _

__Peter’s tongue flicks out to wet his lip. “It didn’t stop him.”_ _

__“Her. And no. We were too late though.” Noah’s face drops with misery, “Scott was already dead. And Stiles had been clawed up. Then he lost it. I’m not sure what happened but suddenly the Alpha was ripped apart on the ground. I got a surge of power.”_ _

__“The Alpha Spark passed to you when she died. As her nearest, possibly, only beta,” Peter says. “And you, darling, your Spark exploded. You were so close to seventeen and your anchor was ripped from you. I’m impressed you survived at all.”_ _

__Stiles lifts his shoulders. “I survived worse when I was a kid. Scott’s death may have fucked me up but it wasn’t going to take me out.”_ _

__“Since then your Spark has been repressed.” Peter tells them. “It manifested itself in ways that you could cope with, to keep your sanity. To protect your mind and your soul and itself because without you alive the Spark has nowhere to go.”_ _

__“What do you mean?”_ _

__“Magic protects itself.” It’s Stiles who answers his dad. “It keeps finding ways to survive, it’s why now thousands of decades after the first reported magician there’s still magic. There’s still werewolves and witches and vampires. It may get diluted but it will never fully disappear.”_ _

__Noah waves a hand. “No I get that, son. What do you, Peter, mean about it manifesting in ways Stiles can cope with?”_ _

__“The teas, the books. Stiles is able to create things out of ingredients that shouldn’t work together, he doesn’t even have to measure. It’s instinctive. You told me you were drawn to them.” Peter quirks his lips up, “I’ve seen witches and entire covens with less extensive herb libraries than yours.”_ _

__“Fuck.” Stiles breathes out._ _

__“I need a beer.” Noah wipes a hand over his face but he doesn’t actually move. They don’t keep alcohol in the house anymore. “I suppose that explains your motive magic, too huh?”_ _

__“Motive magic?” Peter repeats eyes firmly, hungrily, on Stiles._ _

__With a wry smile Stiles says “I know people’s true motives as soon as I meet them.”_ _

__Peter shifts, for the first time since Stiles has known him he looks uncomfortable. “So you knew that I-”_ _

__“Yep.”_ _

__“And you still…”_ _

__Stiles is nodding and Peter trails off. Stiles knew he was Peter’s endgame from the moment they met, and Stiles still chose to spend time with Peter, to have sex with him._ _

__“If you’re right about the magic going down the bloodlines.” Stiles changes the topic and Peter lets him._ _

__“I am right.”_ _

__“Uh huh. Then it’s dad’s side. He knows when people are lying to him.”_ _

__Peter rolls his eyes. “All werewolves do, sweetheart.”_ _

__“Before that.” Noah clarifies. “Before the bite and the Alpha, before all that shit.”_ _

__“You can lie to a werewolf, you can’t lie to my dad.”_ _

__Peter chuckles, “I’m a born ‘wolf, darling. You can’t lie to me. Do you honestly think I wouldn’t notice?”_ _

__With a smirk Stiles says “I already have. You didn’t notice.”_ _

__Turning so he’s fully facing Stiles now Peter looks a little dangerous. “When.” Peter demands._ _

__“When I told you about Scott. I said I didn’t die because my dad is a crack shot in the dark, remember?”_ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__“That’s not a lie, he _is_ a crack shot in the dark but that’s not why I didn’t die that night.” Stiles reaches out and puts a hand on Peter’s thigh, Peter doesn’t tense so he counts it as a win. “I don’t tend to lie to people, Peter, and I won’t lie to you again. It’s just not a night I like to remember and until you told me about my Spark I never really understood what happened.” _ _

__Peter has his head tipped to the side and Stiles knows he’s listening to Stiles’ heartbeat. Stiles is telling the truth and Peter nods, accepting it._ _

__“I just ask that you don’t lie to me either.”_ _

__“I promise.” Peter leans in kissing Stiles’ cheek. While he does so Stiles flicks his gaze to his dad, Noah nods once and Stiles knows that Peter was telling him the truth._ _

__*_ _

__It’s a slow day at work for Stiles, he hasn’t seen Peter since they’d left Stiles’ dad’s place last night after dinner. Peter had mentioned something about finding Derek because he hadn’t seen his nephew in a couple of days and that was unusual especially considering Derek was there as Peter’s keeper._ _

__The bell tinkles as the door opens. Immediately, before he even looks up, Stiles feels the draw of an Alpha werewolf. She’s intimidating. Dark hair, proud features, she looks to be around his dad’s age and Stiles is immediately on guard. Noah would have told him if an Alpha was coming into town. It’s normal for betas to cross territories without notice but for an alpha to do so is insulting._ _

__“You must be Stiles Stilinski.” The woman comes in closer to stand by the counter._ _

__“And you’re here without permission.”_ _

__She tips her head back a bit, chin jutting out and eyebrows rising. “It’s a shop open to the public, and I am the public.”_ _

__Stiles wishes he could feel his Spark, he wished Peter had shown him things to do with his magic. Anything would be helpful. It was pointless now, “you are an Alpha werewolf on our territory without notifying the local Alpha. It’s just plain rude and simply isn’t done.”_ _

__He gets the impression that she would have taken a step back, if she weren’t so high and mighty. Stiles glowers at her._ _

__“Who are you to admonish me?” She draws herself up even taller somehow. “Do you know who I am? You are a child.”_ _

__“I am Stiles Stilinski, Spark.”_ _

__There’s a brief flicker of something like surprise before she covers it with distaste. “I see.” She sneers. “You are the person I have come to see, not the Alpha of this small territory.”_ _

__“I am the son of the Alpha of this small territory,” Stiles mimics with sarcasm. “And you, madam, are testing my patience.”_ _

__The woman’s eyes flare red, fangs point out over her lip as she sneers at him whatever she was going to say gets cut off by the bell sounding again. She doesn’t put the wolf away and Stiles doesn’t understand why._ _

__“I thought I heard your dulcet tones, sister.” Peter suanters up to the counter and winks at Stiles._ _

__“Sister?” Stiles looks between them, they don’t look similar enough to be family, there’s an age gap between them that Stiles doesn’t quite understand._ _

__“I am his Alpha.” Talia Hale squares her shoulders. “First and foremost, his sister second and you, Stiles Stilinski are nothing to him except-”_ _

__“Hang on a minute now,” Stiles interrupts. “You have no idea what I am to Pe-”_ _

__“I know you’re not the first.” Talia raises an eyebrow, challenging him._ _

__Stiles can’t do much more than laugh. “Of course I’m not. He’s not my first either.”_ _

__“You’re not the first magic user my baby brother has seduced.”_ _

__Glancing across at Peter and seeing the amused expression on his face as he lets Stiles and Talia fight over him. The dramatic bastard is probably enjoying it._ _

__With a roll of his eyes Stiles faces Talia, “and he’s not the first werewolf I’ve fucked. Now do you have a point for being here? I’ve been patient with you long enough, Talia Hale.”_ _

__Peter leans in forcing himself into the space between them. “I do believe my nephew tattled on me.”_ _

__“Oh, so that’s where Derek went.” Stiles realises. The beta went running back to his mother and Alpha as soon as he’d found out that Stiles and Peter were having sex. “Looks like you’ve got a new keeper.”_ _

__Talia makes an affronted sound in the back of her throat but she doesn’t actually deny it._ _

__“What are you here for, dear sister?” Peter asks smoothly._ _

__“I want to talk privately.” Talia's eyes flit to the door behind Stiles leading to the kitchenette and beyond. Derek must have spilled all of Stiles’ secrets._ _

__“No.” Crossing his arms over his chest, Stiles draws himself to his full height. “You can say what you want to say here or you can get off my Pack’s territory.”_ _

__Peter shifts a little. He ends up standing at the end of the short counter. He’s not so much in the middle of them anymore, a bit more on Stiles’ side than his Alpha’s. Talia eyes him, faced filled with mistrust._ _

__“We have a threat to our Pack. Peter and Derek came here for information on how to stop it. Instead, you have been unhelpful and Peter’s spent more time getting his dick wet than protecting our Pack as the _Enforcer_ should be doing.” _ _

__“Oh please.” Peter scoffs, “it was a Wendigo. Two actually. I slit their throats before Derek and I came down here. I took care of the threat before it really even was a threat, ‘Lia. And then I took advantage of the situation to come and meet this delicious Spark with my Alpha’s approval.”_ _

__Talia looks gobsmacked and Stiles isn’t faring much better._ _

__Peter is glancing between them, a smirk playing in the corners of his lips. “A beta cannot interact with a Spark, or any magic user, without the approval of his or her own Alpha. I needed your approval, sister, so I could -”_ _

__“Bed him?” Talia interrupts._ _

__“Leave.” Peter corrects, tone of voice bland. “I find myself feeling awfully welcome here.”_ _

__Swallowing heavily Stiles flicks his gaze between the two siblings. Peter looks unaffected as if he’s discussing the weather and not manipulating a situation and Stiles and even Talia, herself. Talia appears resigned and disgusted._ _

__Nothing is said for a long moment. Talia suddenly swipes her hand, claws out and slashes Peter across the face._ _

__“Oh my god!” Stiles scrambles to Peter’s side but the man is laughing, blood flowing from the four gashes across his face. Peter tips his head and exposes his throat and Talia slashes that too. “Fucking hell! Stop!”_ _

__Talia shakes her hand and drops of blood hit the counter dripping from her claws. She says nothing more, just watches her brother laughing maniacally. Then she walks out._ _

__“Peter, stop fucking laughing. This isn’t funny.” Stiles strips out of his plaid overshirt and tries to press it against Peter’s face and neck to mop up some of the blood. Stiles’ hands are shaking too much to be able to do anything effectively, he’s never been very good with blood._ _

__Warm hands take the shirt and Peter has finally stopped laughing. He’s got a very pleased expression. “Darling, that was the only way to get out of her Pack.”_ _

__“What?”_ _

__“To become a part of a Pack you’re either born or bitten by the Alpha. To be set free the Alpha has to slash your throat, willingly.” Peter smirks, “most Alphas aren’t willing to do that. They don’t like losing Pack.”_ _

__Stiles rubs a hand across his forehead, grimacing when he pulls it away and sees the red on his fingers. He’s likely smeared Peter’s blood over his own face. “So why-”_ _

__“Because my Pack hates me. My _sister_ hates me.” Peter sighs. The wounds have stopped bleeding so profusely. They’ll take a day or two to heal after being inflicted by an Alpha and with Peter being Pack-less. Peter looks a bloody mess. “I was the byproduct of an affair our mother had. Talia’s father was our mother’s beta and her Enforcer. I was an embarrassment to the Pack. I brought shame upon Talia, I was so much younger than she was. I was raised to be the Enforcer to her Alpha. It’s a specialised role and I was taught it by a man who hated me.” Peter glances around, he seems uncomfortable, shifting constantly. “I needed a way out. It’s taken me thirty-five years to find that way.” _ _

__Suddenly Stiles gets overwhelmed with anger. _He_ was Peter’s way out. Peter used him and Stiles feels furious. “Get the fuck out. I don’t ever want to see you again!” Stiles pushes at Peter’s chest. “Out! You goddamn asshole.” He wants to hit and hurt but a part of Stiles refuses to do that because that’s all Peter knows, it’s what he expects._ _

__Peter lets Stiles guide him to the door and shove him out. Slamming the door behind him Stiles flips the sign from open to closed and stomps back to the kitchenette. He angrily pulls out the cleaning supplies and starts to wipe down the counter, cleaning it of Peter’s blood. He feels sick, and Stiles tells himself it's from the blood and not Peter’s betrayal._ _

__Stiles sniffs and wipes at his nose harshly, it does nothing to stop the all encompassing helplessness and rage. He wants to shout and scream. Stiles wants to break things, he wipes away the last of the blood from the counter and the fresh tears that have spilled from his eyes._ _

__Taking a breath Stiles stares at the shelf in front of him. It takes a moment for his eyes to focus through the blur and he throws the bloody cloth into the bin. Stiles grabs at his phone and as he leaves the shop he swipes the hourglass from the shelf._ _

__*_ _

__

__Stiles had left his jeep on a dirt track before he headed off the path and deep into the Preserve. He really doesn’t want to be found, not that it will stop his dad from sniffing him out but Stiles is a mess of emotions and he wants to be alone right now. He’s putting as much distance between himself and his Pack as he can._ _

__He’s still reeling from Peter’s betrayal and, mostly, the fact that he even cares so much. Stiles knows he shouldn’t care that a stranger used him as a means to an end. Except he does and he cares that the stranger was Peter. Stiles is also self-aware enough to know that he’s using anger as a shield because he’s scared and confused._ _

__Pulling the blasted hourglass from his pocket Stiles glares at it, snarling at the blue sand that doesn’t budge no matter how much he turns and shakes it. With a wordless yell Stiles throws it onto the ground as hard as he can. It lies, unharmed, among the dirt and grass and mushrooms._ _

__Stiles kicks it._ _

__It’s easier to take his anger out on the inanimate object than it is on Peter. Stiles has noticed how the man struggles to accept gentle touches, he tenses and waits for the pain. There’s a part of Peter that seems to relish in being hurt, in manipulating and causing people to turn their anger towards him into a physical reaction._ _

__Part of Stiles wants to do that to Peter, the larger part of him won’t. Morally he refuses and magically, he can’t hurt his anchor. Fingering the bite mark on his shoulder Stiles wishes he had never met Peter Hale because ever since the man, alongside his nephew, had walked into Stiles’ shop nothing in Stiles’ carefully controlled life has been the same._ _

__He knows logically that it’s not Peter’s fault, Stiles’ life has been fucked up since his mom died when he was nine. Before then, even when she got sick. There’s a jittery sensation under his skin, Stiles feels restless in a way he doesn’t fully understand. He feels out of control and strangely calm at the same time._ _

__The ringing of his phone distracts him from his wallowing, the anger having drained away. The strange uneasy feeling remains. He doesn’t want to answer the phone but something in Stiles is compelling him to do so. The phone rings out and Stiles glances at the screen and it rings again._ _

__“Hey dad.”_ _

__“You alright kiddo?”_ _

__“Been better,” Stiles lets out a manic, wet laugh, “been worse too.”_ _

__“I’m sorry kid, I’ve got a difficult question to ask you.” Noah sounds very dad-like, concerned and reluctant._ _

__“Sure,” Stiles slumps down onto the damp ground. He rests a hand around the hourglass, it’s not as comforting as he wants nor needs it to be._ _

__There’s a sigh then his dad says quietly, “I’ve got a certain werewolf here asking to become part of our Pack.” It’s not a question but Stiles knows what his dad is asking, does Stiles want Peter in their Pack?_ _

__“Dad, god, dad you have to.”_ _

__“I don’t _have_ to do anything, Stiles.” _ _

__Licking his lips Stiles buys himself a few milliseconds of time. “Dad, you do. He’ll be an Omega and then Hunters will put him down. Peter is… he’s going to be an asset to our Pack of two. He’s smart as hell, ruthless and it’s better to have him working with us than against us.”_ _

__“Uh huh.”_ _

__“Don’t sound so enthusiastic.”_ _

__“Stiles,” Noah sighs. “If it’s going to cause issues between the two of you…”_ _

__“Why would you think that?”_ _

__“Peter told me what happened. How he used you as a means to get out of his sister’s Pack.”_ _

__“Fuck.” Stiles rubs a dirty hand through his hair. “You didn’t kill him did you?”_ _

__There’s a bark of laughter in the background and Stiles realises that Peter is nearby his dad, close enough that he can hear what Stiles is saying._ _

__“No, god, kid. What do you think of me?”_ _

__“Sorry.”_ _

__“It’s broad daylight. I’d wait until it was dark at least.” The amusement in his dad’s voice makes Stiles smile._ _

__“Can I speak to him?”_ _

__Noah hesitates and Stiles can practically feel his dad’s worry. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”_ _

__“No.”_ _

__There’s a bit of rustling and then Peter’s saying his name. Stiles sniffs he’s not crying, not even close though Peter must think he is. “Oh, Stiles.”_ _

__“Peter.”_ _

__“Yes?”_ _

__“I’m still angry with you.”_ _

__Peter sighs. “I know you are, darling. For what it’s worth I am sorry I used you.”_ _

__“But?”_ _

__“But I’m not sorry about the outcome.” Peter sounds sincere. He’s the anchor to Stiles’ Spark, and they’re Pack now Stiles is going to have to let go of the betrayal. The end justifies the means, at least in this case._ _

__“Peter.”_ _

__“Yes Stiles?”_ _

__“Come and find me.” Stiles says then he hangs up, but not before he hears Peter’s sharp inhale._ _

__Stiles sheds his jacket and hides it in the branches of a tree. He grips the hourglass in his sweaty hand and runs. As he goes through the preserve Stiles strips, hiding some of his clothes in the trees as he runs in circles. He keeps the hourglass with him, something inside him, his Spark probably, is making him keep hold of it._ _

__When he's fully naked, shoes and socks tucked against the edge of the clearing, Stiles settles himself on a large, moss covered tree stump and he waits. Stiles’ heart is pounding and the restless feeling under his skin has turned into something more like excitement._ _

__The hourglass has been largely ignored but Stiles turns his attention to it now and what he sees makes his breath catch in his throat. The sand has started to drop and it's falling rapidly._ _

__Stiles is whirling his head around to try and see who is coming. He's waiting for one person, one specific person and Stiles definitely does not want someone that's not Peter finding him naked sitting on a damp tree stump. God, what if it's one of his dad's deputies, or a couple of teens looking to get high or something._ _

__A snap of a twig breaking forces Stiles' hand, he faces forward as a figure appears through the trees. Stiles' eyes dart down just as the figure, a man, steps into the clearing._ _

__Stiles feels a massive wave of relief. The hourglass is still pouring sand at an alarmingly fast speed._ _

__"Look at you," Peter's eyes are supernaturally blue. He stares hungrily at Stiles, "you led me on a merry chase, sweetheart."_ _

__Stiles smirks. "You liked it."_ _

__"Yes." Peter inclines his head, "I did." He keeps stalking forward though his footsteps falter as he looks over the stump Stiles is on. He blinks his eyes clear of the supernatural blue and a look of amazement covers his face. "Do you know what you're sitting on?"_ _

__"A tree stump."_ _

__Peter closes the gap between them and rests his hands on Stiles' naked sides, fingers tracing over the tattoo on his one side and the scars on the other. "A nemeton."_ _

__"A what?"_ _

__"A tree on the Telluric Currents. Ley lines of supernatural frequencies of geomagnetic energies. The nemeton is placed where the currents intersect. They're notoriously hard to find." Peter pauses. "Unless you're a powerful magic user."_ _

__"Oh my god." Stiles shakes his head._ _

__A warm mouth comes to rest on the bite mark on Stiles' shoulder. "You're full of surprises, my Little Spark."_ _

__"Who're you calling little?" Stiles grumbles even as his hands grip Peter's hair. He tugs and pulls Peter's face up so they can kiss. Stiles isn't over the betrayal but Peter is Pack now, and he's Stiles' Spark anchor apparently. Not that Stiles fully understands what that means yet. "Fuck, Peter. I shouldn't be so turned on by this."_ _

__Peter chuckles into Stiles' mouth. "Don't worry, darling, I'm just as aroused by it."_ _

__They kiss some more, wet and slick and Stiles starts to tug at Peter's clothes trying to get him just as naked as Stiles is. Peter’s belt comes through the loops with some effort from Stiles, it’s harder than it should be because Stiles is distracted by Peter’s mouth._ _

__“Can you feel me?” Peter whispers filthily into Stiles’ ear._ _

__Palming Peter’s cock, Stiles pulls back to grin at him. “I can indeed.” He winks and Peter rolls his eyes, the drama queen._ _

__“I mean here,” Peter presses his hand gently to the centre of Stiles’ chest._ _

__“Yeah.” Stiles swallows, “I can feel you in my Pack bonds. I kind of figured dad had bitten you because you’ve healed so quickly.”_ _

__“Just making sure.” Peter steps away to push his jeans to the forest floor and he shrugs out of his shirt as well. “You know, nemetons require sacrifices to keep them healthy and whole.”_ _

__“I hope you don’t mean death.”_ _

__“Le petit mort,” Peter smirks. “Willingly given from a Spark and his anchor should tie the nemeton and it’s power to you, darling. Should you ever need to defend our territory.”_ _

__Stiles falls onto his back, the moss soft and spongy and damp against his skin. “No harm in trying.”_ _

__Peter’s hand runs up Stiles’ leg, “turn over, hands and knees.”_ _

__Hurrying to comply Stiles slips a little, “eurgh, gross.” Peter settles in behind him, legs on the outside of Stiles’ and slots his dick between Stiles’ thighs. “Oh,” Stiles whimpers as Peter presses a dry thumb to his hole. Stiles swipes a damp palm between his legs before bringing his thighs together to trap Peter’s dick._ _

__“That’s it, sweetheart. Nice and tight for me.” Peter starts to thrust. The head of his dick hitting the back of Stiles’ balls as he pushes forward. He holds onto Stiles’ hips with clawed fingers, the tips digging into Stiles’ skin, just enough to pleasantly sting._ _

__Stiles shifts his weight to grab his dick, he pumps his hand in time with Peter’s thrusts. “Fuck,” Stiles groans, head hanging down. This shouldn’t be as hot as it is, they’re fucking on a magical tree stump, anyone could stumble across them and that just sends a thrill down Stiles’ spine. “Close,” he pants as he speeds up his thrusts._ _

__“Come on then,” Peter growls. “Come for me.”_ _

__And Stiles does. He sprays over the moss, the thick white ropes of come looking a bit unseemly against the bright greens. Peter’s come joins his, a few moments later and he lets out a loud roar as he spills over Stiles’ balls, thighs and the moss._ _

__By his foot the sound of wood splintering and glass shattering distracts Stiles, he turns his head and over his shoulder Stiles sees the hourglass turning into fine sand and splinters and all that's left is slivers of wood and a pile of dust._ _

__It’s unnerving but Stiles becomes strangely alert. He just _knows_ there’s an ant nest under the stump, a bee is on a flower growing off it, a fox uses the roots as it’s den for her young. Stiles becomes aware of the forest around the nemeton, and mostly of the nemeton itself. He can feel the power, it’s like a misty rain, barely there but soaking through everything. _ _

__“Can you feel it?” Peter asks, he’s lying on his back looking up at the clouds._ _

__“I think, I think I can.” Stiles shoves him across so he can lie down with his head on Peter’s chest and not in the come covered moss._ _

__Peter hums happily. “It’s happy.” He traces his fingers up and down Stiles’ neck. “As am I.”_ _

__“I’m still mad at you.” Stiles grumbles, though he softens it with a kiss to Peter’s skin._ _

__“Of course.” Stiles can just hear the smirk in his voice, “I imagine it’ll take me years of grovelling and make up sex for you to forgive me.”_ _

__Biting his lip to stop the smile, Stiles nods solemnly, “yeah. It could take a really long time. A lifetime even.”_ _

__“I’m okay with that.”_ _

__Stiles presses his nose into Peter’s chest. “You’re not using this relationship to get your hands on the Southeil treatise.”_ _

__“I never wanted the Southeil Treatise.” Peter uses his free hand to nudge at Stiles’ chin. It’s strange how easily he’s settled into Stiles’ Pack with Noah, Peter seems to be a lot more comfortable with himself than he was in Talia’s Pack._ _

__Stiles tilts his face. “I know,” he replies easily, moving closer to let their lips meet. And if it feels as though the sun shines just a bit brighter, the birds sing just a bit louder and Stiles’ heart beats just a bit faster there’s no one there to know._ _

__No one except himself and Peter._ _

**Author's Note:**

> [Info about Mother Shipton](https://www.biography.com/news/real-witches-in-history)   
>  [Mother Shipton Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mother_Shipton)   
>  [Protection rune](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/71s8xaQggaL._SL1500_.jpg)   
>  [Protector rune](https://ic.pics.livejournal.com/agent_jl36/11317204/362000/362000_original.jpg)
> 
> Babunia is the Polish term of babushka, the headscarf that old Polish/Russian women (mainly grandmothers) wear. 
> 
> [I'm on tumblr](https://cathcer1984.tumblr.com/)
> 
> ____


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